


Eye of the Hawk

by Commander Smith (doctor_b1993)



Category: JAG
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_b1993/pseuds/Commander%20Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harmon D. Rabb Jr. is a naval aviator and test pilot whose career was very nearly cut short after a mishap was caused by what was misdiagnosed as night blindness. Forced to make a choice about continuing his naval career, Harm is prepared to move to JAG to keep his career alive when a misdiagnosis is revealed and corrected and he instead reported to Test Pilot School at Pax River. <em>Eye of the Hawk</em> picks up from when Harm reports to NAS Pensacola, Florida as a test pilot for the new YF-19 prototype. Even as a test pilot, doubts start to creep in about his abilities until one surprise meeting changes everything for the young lieutenant. Harm/Skates. Inspiration taken from byrhthelm's oneshot series, especially <em>Pensacola Punishment</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escaping Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pensacola Punishment](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15267) by byrhthelm. 



> _**UPDATE:** (12/02/2013) As I myself noted in chapter 1, the timeline of this story was quite unrealistic, and so I've gone back and rewritten the prologue (both parts 1  & 2) to fit a more realistic timeline, and I will be updating the first two chapters to fit this new timeline. _
> 
> Four years of JAG are dedicated to Harm as an aviator who was forced to turn away from the job he loved because of night blindness, only to find a misdiagnosis. In Eye of the Hawk, however, the misdiagnosis is picked up and corrected straight away.
> 
>  **A note on abbreviations:**  
>  The abbreviations for ranks in this fic are taken from Wikipedia. 
> 
> **A note on militaria:**  
>  I am not a member of the United States (nor any other country's) Armed Forces, and any information used in this fic has been obtained either from the internet or from JAG. This is fiction, so the details are going to have artistic license. The F-19 (or F/A-19 as this story may end up using, haven't decided yet) has become something of a mystery since the F/A-18 Hornet was followed into production by the F-20 Tigershark, breaking a chain which, with the exception of F-13, had run unbroken from F-1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harmon D. Rabb Jr. is a test pilot at Pensacola flying the YF-19 Panther prototype by day and fighting off nightmares of the ramp strike that nearly cost him his career by night. When his struggles with his abilities come to the fore, one meeting could be enough to change everything for him...

# Eye of the Hawk

### Prologue (Part One): Escaping Nightmares

####  **18 AUGUST 1993**  
 **NAVAL AIR STATION PENSACOLA – ESCAMBIA COUNTY, FLA.**  
 **1045 HOURS ZULU**

LT Harmon David Rabb Jr., USN, tossed and turned in the modest double bed which took up a large part of the small room he currently occupied at NAS Pensacola’s Bachelor Officer’s Quarters before suddenly sitting bolt upright as yet another nightmare ran through his head, his mind’s eye forcing him to repeatedly re-watch the moment when his Radar Intercept Officer, LTJG Jack “Ripper” Mace, had panicked, ejecting them both from the cockpit of their F-14A Tomcat on final approach to the USS _Patrick Henry_ (CVN-74) over and over.

As a result of the crash, Harm had broken his tibia and fibula of both legs forcing him to undergo months of rehabilitation as well as laser oblation to remove blood clots on his retina which had caused the bout of night-blindness that resulted in the mishap.

Since that time, Harm had started his shore-duty tour as a test pilot. Currently, he was attached to VX-24, the only Air Test and Evaluation Squadron stationed at Pensacola and was flying the YF-19 Panther – a proposed fighter/attack replacement for the F-14 Tomcat on which the Panther was based.

As the recurring nightmare pulled him from his sleep once more, he sighed as he saw the time on the bedside clock-radio. He wasn’t supposed to check in with his CO CDR Gary “The Hawk” Hochausen until 9am, but he knew full well that he would be unable to get any quality sleep that night, and so he hauled himself out of his “rack” and stretched languidly before he dragged himself over to the wardrobe and picked out his training gear, pulling on the navy issue grey singlet and navy blue shorts before bending down to pull on and lace up his trainers.

On his way out the door, he grabbed his _Patrick Henry_ cap and slipped it on his head before closing and locking the door behind him. He made his way down the corridor and out of VOQ into the morning air. Looking both ways, he made his choice and started his jog down the street towards Big Lagoon located to the south of Pensacola.

Trying desperately to take his thoughts away from that terrible day on the “Give Me Liberty” as the _Patrick Henry_ was fondly nicknamed, Harm instead chose to focus on thoughts of his father, LT Harmon Rabb Senior, who had gone MIA while flying a photo recon mission over North Vietnam while flying off the USS _Ticonderoga_. So engrossed in his thoughts was he, running along the banks of the lagoon, that he didn’t see the other early morning jogger until he collided with them, both of them sprawling on the ground in a tangle of limbs and grunts and groans.

As he rose to his feet, he looked down and offered his hand to the other jogger, an Hispanic woman he noted, apologising as he did so, “I’m so sorry, I was lost in my thoughts Miss...”

“Uh, Ensign,” the young woman corrected him, “Ensign Elizabeth Hawkes, but my friends call me Skates. I’m a Student NFO, I graduate this week actually.”

“I’m Lieutenant Harm Rabb. In the squadron I’m known as Hammer. What are you hoping to fly in, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Tomcats sir, what else?” The young ensign looked at him as if he were stupid.

“Ah, and brains too!” Harm noted with a grin. “Tomcats are the ONLY way to go.”

Skates glanced at her watch and her eyes bugged out slightly. “I’m sorry, Harm, it was nice to meet you, but I have to check in for class at 1115 Zulu!”

“It was nice to meet you too,” Harm smiled, “maybe someday we’ll get to fly together.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Skates agreed before she set off towards her quarters to get ready for the day.

####  **LATER THAT DAY**  
 **NAVAL AIR STATION PENSACOLA – ESCAMBIA COUNTY, FLA.**  
 **2326 HOURS ZULU**

Harm leant against the bar of the local watering hole on base, known as the “Hangar Deck”, as he reflected on the day he’d had. After doing weapons testing on the YF-19 in the morning, he’d come across a group of student naval aviators in the process of undertaking Advanced Strike training making several disparaging comments about the only female SNA in the course, an ENS Tiffany Wilkinson, and how there was no place for women in the cockpit. All this resulted in the ringleader ENS Andrew Xavier Buxton sporting an ugly red handprint across his face, and nearly devolved into a brawl until Harm had stepped in.

Once the matter had made its way to the ears of the base commander, CAPT Tom Falcon, however, Harm was not congratulated on stopping the situation from escalating; the hard-nosed captain had instead ripped into him for allowing the matter to escalate as far as it had.

After lunch, he flew out to the USS _Independence_ (CV-62) and completed a series of carrier landings including touch-and-go and arrested landings before going toe-to-toe in a YF-19 against another test pilot from the squadron, LCDR Brian “T-Bone” Thompson, in an F-14 to compare the two aircraft’s capability in air combat manoeuvring. Harm had been all over T-Bone when The Hawk had flown up and flanked Harm, getting a missile lock and announcing an aerial victory for the Tomcats.

Draining the last of his beer, Harm glanced ruefully at his now empty glass and was reaching for his wallet again when someone, female by the voice, took the stool beside him and spoke, “I got it.” The woman then continued, talking to the barman, “I’ll have a beer, and another for my friend here.”

“Right away,” the barman said with a slight Irish lilt as he nodded, taking her money and turning towards the till.

Harm turned towards the unknown woman and found himself looking at a set of “butter bars” – golden ensign bars – on the collar of a set of service khakis. Sheepishly moving his gaze upwards, he found one of the last faces he had expected to ever see again, that of ENS Elizabeth Hawkes. “Hey, uh... Skates, wasn’t it?” Harm asked, scraping around in his head trying to find the woman’s name.

“Or, you could try calling me Beth?” The ensign offered with a grin as they both accepted their beers from the barman.

“Beth then,” Harm agreed with a nod. Glancing down at his now full beer glass and back at the young student flight officer, he raised the glass in a salute before telling her, “Normally I buy my own drinks you know.”  
“Well then, I guess you’ll be able to fix me up later tonight, won’t you?” Beth offered before blushing as the unintended double entendre of what she had said washed over her.

“Maybe,” Harm chuckled, passing an appreciative glance over the highly attractive Hispanic woman sitting on a bar stool next to him, causing Beth’s blush to deepen exponentially.

“So, sir, what’s got you down?” Beth asked delicately after a few moments of silently sipping her beer.

“Call me Harm,” he replied lightly.

“Harm then, what’s got you down?” she echoed his words from before before repeating her question.

“Well, in case you didn’t notice, I’m an aviator,” he started, waiting for Beth to nod in recognition before continuing, “and ten months ago I was serving on the Patrick Henry. It was right at the end of my first tour. The Henry’s CAG – Captain Johnson – sent my wingman and I on a sortie over southern Bosnia. My RIO’s name was Lieutenant JG Jack Mace, or Ripper as we called him. My wingman, Lieutenant Jack Keeter and I had finished the sortie and we were on our way back to the boat when the weather turned bad. It kept picking up and by the time we made it back to the carrier, the deck was pitching something fearsome.” Harm’s voice quietened slightly as he slipped into the memory...

####  **10 NOVEMBER 1992**  
 **USS PATRICK HENRY – OFF THE COAST OF MONTENEGRO, ADRIATIC SEA**  
 **0226 HOURS ZULU**

_The F-14 Tomcat was shuddering in the wind now as lightning crackled all around. Harm focussed all his concentration on keeping the bird under his control as he waited for his wingman LT Jack Keeter to land first. Keeter landed well enough, wobbled a bit and landed hard, but he caught the two wire and got down safely. Harm wasn't to be quite so lucky. Harm was blinking rapidly, trying to focus his eyes well enough to call the ball, but all he could see was a slightly defined blur. Somehow, he managed to get his Tomcat into position and waited for the radio message from the LSO, or "Paddles" to call the ball._

_"Paddles, this is Raptor 2-0-6, ball, 8-point-2," Harm radioed as he started his approach, running through checks with Killer, lowering the landing gear and tailhook and fighting to keep the bird steady._

_"Roger, ball, pitching deck," crackled through the radio confirming that Paddles had heard the message. "You're a little low, you are below glide path, still below, just below, you are below the glide path..." Paddles continued giving Harm a constant litany of messages guiding him in._

_Harm had managed to keep his Tomcat straight and was almost back on the glide path, about ten feet off the deck when he recieved the wave off. He had started to apply the power when Killer panicked and pulled the ejector handles. With no one controlling it any more, the fighter jet crashed into the ramp and spun to a stop as it was engulfed in flames..._

####  **18 AUGUST 1993**  
 **NAVAL AIR STATION PENSACOLA – ESCAMBIA COUNTY, FLA.**  
 **2330 HOURS ZULU**

“I hit the deck pretty hard and was fairly banged up - broken leg, a couple of busted ribs, concussion, but Ripper wasn’t so lucky. His chute got caught in the wind and he drifted back into the flames. He suffered massive third degree burns and died from shock,” Harm finished his explanation with tears in his eyes which he desperately tried to fight back as he took a long pull from his glass, finishing off his beer and gesturing to the barman for two more - men don’t cry, after all.

“Oh, Harm, I’m so sorry!” Beth said as her hand flew to her mouth and she too teared up.

“It’s fine,” Harm assured her before continuing his tale. “I went to two separate specialists after the ramp strike. The first diagnosed me with night blindness, which would have ended my flying days. The second specialist discovered a problem with my eyes caused by a recent infection, which he thankfully was able to correct. Once my eyes recovered, I started my compulsory ‘Wings Plus Eight’ shore tour, went to Pax River for Test Pilot School then got posted here to VX-24 and I’m flying test flights in the YF-19 Panther. Northrop Grumman is petitioning the Navy to give the go ahead for production of the Panther and VX-24’s job is to test the prototype and give a recommendation to the Navy.”

“Isn’t it hard for you to keep flying after having your RIO die?” Beth asked delicately, placing her hand on Harm’s wrist.

“It’s getting easier,” Harm admitted. “The first few weeks the Hawk had to literally kick me into the cockpit, and I still have the nightmares most nights, but even they’re fading away. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never forget, and I hope I never punch out again, but I love flying and I love the Navy, so right now I’m just concentrating on the next step up the ladder.”

“And what is the next step up the ladder?” Beth asked as Harm placed his hand over hers and the lastresidual sadness from his ramp strike seemed to drain away and out through the place that Beth’s skin met his.

“Well I’ve got orders for Vandenberg AFB, TAD to the Military Space Agency effective from September the first with two years of training before I’ll be given the option to join the MSA Corps of Astronauts or going back to the fleet,” Harm explained.

“What do you think you’ll choose?” Beth said, before realising that she was asking a lot of questions considering she didn’t know this man.

“Fleet,” Harm replied vehemently, showing no signs of annoyance towards Beth, “I mean being an astronaut would be cool, but I joined the Navy to protect my country... and bore holes in the sky, not pilot a flying brick every couple of months.”

“Makes sense, maybe you and me can bore holes in the sky together some day,” Beth said with a grin as Harm cited very similar reasons to her own to join the Navy.

The pair finished their beers in silence before Harm spoke once more. “You staying in VOQ?” he asked, to which she nodded. “Shall I escort you home then?”

“Sure,” Beth nodded, trying hard to fight off a blush and her traitorous mind thinking back to her earlier unintentional double ettendre.

The humidity surprised them as they stepped out of the tavern and into the street, but nevertheless, he removed a cigar and lighter from his pocket, savouring the taste of his favourite tobacco. He exhaled deeply, the air around him becoming thick with cigar smoke.

“Those things will kill you, you know?” Beth said from next to him.

“So will getting hit by a bus!” Harm retorted, having had a similar argument with several previous girlfriends, all now exes.

“True!” Beth said with a chuckle before she surprised him, “Got another?”

Harm regarded his new friend suspiciously for a moment before he reached back into his breast pocket and removed another of his cigars, handing it to her and when ready, lighting it for her.

“Thanks,” she said with a wide smile before taking several puffs while Harm looked on in disbelief. “What? Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t smoke cigars!”

“Of course not,” Harm agreed quickly, not wanting to face Beth’s ire, having already lived through the old adage that “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” more than enough times.

They continued to walk, and smoke, in silence as they made their way towards VOQ. “Thanks for listening Beth, most of the guys in the squadron wouldn’t hear a word of it. Getting it off my chest might even help with my nightmares,” Harm told the young ensign before blushing as he realised that he hardly knew this woman and he had just unloaded all his problems off on her.

“Not a problem Harm,” Beth said before pulling a piece of paper and a pen from her purse, quickly scrawling her phone number on it and handing it to the older aviator. “We should do this again sometime,” she said before adding, “call me” before walking away towards her own quarters, leaving Harm stunned for a moment, clutching her phone number before he started to move to his quarters, his mind never once leaving the attractive Student NFO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahoy there! Commander Smith here! I've been a fan of Harm/Skates ever since watching _Adrift (Part II)_ and going back to watch the other episodes including Skates have reinforced my belief in them as my OTP. So here's my attempt to enter the world of Harm/Skates fandom


	2. Gold Wings and Dress Whites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's less than a week since they first meet, but both Beth and Harm are starting to find the attraction between them almost impossible to resist. With Harm only a few days away from leaving Pensacola for the West Coast, will they give in and cross the line?

### Prologue (Part Two): Gold Wings and Dress Whites

####  **19 AUGUST 1993**  
 **NAVAL AIR STATION PENSACOLA – ESCAMBIA COUNTY, FLA.**  
 **1050 HOURS ZULU**  


“Beth... Beth...” Harm continued muttering one single word over and over as he tossed and turned for the second time in as many days. This time, however, his sleep was not plagued by nightmares, but by fantasies of a certain attractive brunette he knew, and confusion over why he had revealed so much about himself. He had gathered a lot of emotional baggage over the years, and for some reason, while he had been unable to tell his best female friends and adopted sisters Diane and Sarah Schonke any of this, he had barely met Beth, but within five minutes he had told the young officer about his ramp strike, and she had made him feel like he could go back to flying. Without saying anything, she had ensured that the flames of his love for flying had not died, and were instead burning as strong as ever.

Harm shot into consciousness at the end of a particularly racy fantasy, and after a few moments of trying to clear his head by shaking it, he gave it up as a bad job and hauled himself up and out of bed, deciding instead that a jog would be the best bet for clearing stray thoughts, although a traitorous part of his mind was telling him that he was only doing so in order to try and see Beth again when he couldn’t get up the courage to call her.

Subconciously following the same path as the day before, Harm was this time keeping his head up, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, scanning for an attractive brunette “butter bar” on her morning jog. He turned a corner onto the road running alongside the Lost Key Marina and reflexively grabbed the shoulders of the very subject of his thoughts to stop her from falling to the ground as he nearly collided with her for the second time in two days. “Lieutenant Harm Rabb! We really need to stop meeting like this!” Beth giggled as she recognised him, “People will start to talk.”

“Ensign Beth Hawkes! And it’s good to see you too, but no-one else is awake at this hour,” Harm shot back with his own grin.

The pair remained in place just staring into each other’s eyes, Harm’s arm still around Beth’s shoulders as they stood on the street corner. Finally the spell was broken as Beth spoke haltingly, a deep crimson blush creeping across her cheeks, “Um, Harm... you can let go now...”

“Oh, uh, right, yeah...” Harm stammered in reply as he pulled his hands back to his body with a blush matching Beth’s. “I wanted to apologise for last night, I’m not normally the kind for dropping my problems on somebody else.”

“I don’t want to hear the big macho emotionless flyboy routine, sir,” Beth countered, adding the “sir” slightly condescendingly. “I’m a flier, but I’m also a girl. I’m not going to turn off my emotions every time I go up, and if we ever end up in the same squadron I’m not going to tell anyone about what happened. If you want to, think of me as your... I dunno... therapist?”

Harm let out a big booming laugh. “Therapist?” he asked incredulously.

“Lawyer then?” Beth asked jokingly, while Harm tried a different tact, “How about friends?” 

“Sounds good to me, Harm,” Beth agreed. “You wanna run with me this morning? See who the stronger one is?”

"You're on!" Harm said challengingly.

####  **21 AUGUST 1993**  
 **NAVAL AIR STATION PENSACOLA – ESCAMBIA COUNTY, FLA.**  
 **1510 HOURS ZULU**

It was so ridiculously hot and humid! It was Harm’s last day at Pensacola before he had leave and the opportunity to visit family and friends in La Jolla, near San Diego before reporting to the Military Space Agency. Having to spend the first few hours beside the Hawk sitting on foldable plastic chairs out on the tarmac of Forrest Sherman Field at the air station in his dress whites as the thirty degree temperature and eighty percent relative humidity combined to make watching the “winging” ceremony of the latest class of aviators and flight officers an extremely uncomfortable. It was only after ten in the morning, but it was already clear that the officers taking part in and observing the ceremony were in for a very hot and sweaty day. As the ceremony dragged on, Harm focused on each individual aviator as they were winged, keeping in mind that any one of them might one day be his wingman on a life-or-death mission. Most of them seemed like typical aviators - so sure of themselves as to be bordering on cocky - but one in particularly, ENS Buxton was way beyond cocky. The “X-man”, as he had already become known around the base, went far beyond cockiness and had already developed an ego the size of Texas. Harm cringed inwardly as X-man stepped up to the visiting admiral - Rear Admiral (upper half) (RADM) Paul Christie - and puffed out his chest ready for his wings to be pinned on. 

As the next aviator stepped forward, Harm's mind drifted back almost eight years to the day that he himself received his wings...

####  **17 OCTOBER 1987**  
 **NAVAL AIR STATION PENSACOLA – ESCAMBIA COUNTY, FLA.**  
 **1625 HOURS ZULU**  


_Ensign Harmon Rabb Jr. stood in front of RADM Drake, the Commander of the United States Seventh Fleet, in the grounds of NAS Pensacola with his classmates as, one by one, they were called forth by a young lieutenant, junior grade public liaison officer to receive their “wings of gold” from the admiral to be officially welcomed into the world of naval aviator before they would each receive their orders for their respective Fleet Replacement Squadrons. Harm stood proudly watching as his friends and academy mates Jack Keeter and Luke Pendry received theirs before finally his own name was called and he stepped forward, saluting the admiral crisply._

_"Congratulations, Ensign. Welcome to the wonderful world of naval aviation," Admiral Drake said as he pinned the golden wings insignia on Harm's chest before shaking his hand._

_"Thank you, sir," Harm said with a genuine smile as he accepted the handshake before saluting the admiral once more and moving off to join his classmates._

####  **21 AUGUST 1993**  
 **NAVAL AIR STATION PENSACOLA – ESCAMBIA COUNTY, FLA.**  
 **1514 HOURS ZULU**  


Harm was shaken out of his reminiscence by a final round of applause as the newly qualified aviators marched away, turning the corner near a hangar and moving out of sight while a “JG” PRO announced the graduating class of NFOs. As the NFOs moved on to the improvised stage, Harm was pleasantly surprised when Beth glanced his way with an almost imperceptible smile and wave which he returned. Once again he found himself wondering how Beth had had such a profound effect on him such a short time. Harm listened with half an ear as Admiral Christie spoke about these new NFOs being part of the backbone of the next generation navy and some propaganda including a dated reference to “magnificent men (and women) in their flying machines.” He watched mostly disinterestedly as the NFOs received their wings, at least until the first of the three females in the class stepped forward towards the admiral. As he heard “Ensign Elizabeth Hawkes, Advanced Strike” announced, he sat up straighter and applauded louder than he had for any other presentation.

####  **LATER THAT DAY**  
 **NAVAL AIR STATION PENSACOLA – ESCAMBIA COUNTY, FLA.**  
 **0106 HOURS ZULU**  


Later that night at the Hangar Deck, the newest members of the aviation community let their hair down and partied, all of them wearing their gold wings proudly on their chests no matter how out of place they looked on dresses or shirts, as they danced to the music pumping. The four females in the group, new naval flight officers, Beth Hawkes, Rachel Thomas and Angela Arutti had started the night sticking closely together along with the only female pilot, Tiff Wilkinson, although this lasted for only a while. In the blink of an eye, the other three fly-girls were off dancing with a guy from the courses, leaving Beth as the only one standing there. When she noticed ENS Buxton - the X-man - moving towards her purposely, she frantically looked around for a route of escape, and mercifully, she caught sight of Harm sitting at a table in the corner and raced over towards him.  
“Save me Harm!” she whispered anxiously to her new friend as X-man continued to move towards her.

Recognising the egotistical jet jockey moving towards them, he gestured Beth into a seat and signalled to the waitress for two beers just as X-man reached them. “Hey, doll, why don’t you come and dance with me?” he asked with an air that strongly suggested he did not expect her to say no.

“No thanks, Buxton, I’m talking to a friend of mine,” Beth answered without looking away from Harm, rolling her eyes out of X-man’s line of sight.

“Why not?” X-man asked angrily, clearly not being used to being on the receiving end of a negative response.

“Because, as I said, I am talking to my friend!” Beth affirmed with a raised voice, still not looking at the hotshot.

At this moment, X-man lost his temper and grabbed Beth’s shoulder. “No one says no to me, bitch!” he hissed.

“And no one messes with me!” Beth retorted as she grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm around behind his back, whispering in his ear, “I had four older brothers.”

“Did you see that? This bitch just assaulted me!” X-man said, looking at Harm.

“No ensign, what I saw was self-defence,” Harm corrected him. “The name’s Lieutenant Harm Rabb, and I’m sorely tempted to report you to Captain Falcon and Commander Robinson for assault.”

“The hell you will, sir!” X-man said, his anger now well past boiling point, he threw a punch at Harm, connecting with the side of his head.

Harm pulled his arm back to return in kind, but was stopped by the soft voice of his newest, and fast becoming one of his best friends, “Don’t Harm! He’s not worth it...” This, of course, didn’t stop Beth from elbowing X-man in the gut as she winked at Harm before adding “... to you, that is.”

The doubled over ensign was helped away by some of his classmates while Harm and Beth sat back down to enjoy the beers which the waitress had brought over before the altercation.

“So, Beth, how does it feel to be fully qualified?” Harm asked as he took a long pull on his beer.

“It hasn’t quite sunk in yet,” Beth admitted, glancing down at her golden NFO insignia before looking back at the man opposite her. “I mean, I report to my FRS next week at Oceana, and then within a year, I’m in the fleet, it’s what I’ve always wanted, ever since I was young.”

“Well then, here’s to childhood ambitions for the cockpit,” Harm offered a toast by raising his beer.

“To childhood ambitions,” Beth echoed with a smile.

The pair continued drinking in silence until Harm’s voice brought Beth out of her silent musing. “You are so beautiful,” he told her, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What brought that on?” Beth looked at Harm in disbelief.

“Uh, did... did I just say that... out loud?” Harm’s face turned bright red as he stammered his question out.

“Uh, yeah you did,” Beth nodded as she replied, “but do you mean it?”

“Of course I did,” Harm said emphatically before glancing around the bar at the other fliers who were gradually getting more and more raucous. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Are you propositioning me?” Beth asked mock-seriously.

“Maybe, why?” Harm countered.

“Because,” Beth started coyly, “you know what they say about gold wings and dress whites.” She paused to reach across and bring Harm’s head towards her, capturing his lips in a kiss which she broke after several all too short moments. “They’ll get you in bed anywhere.”


	3. Sic Itur Ad Astra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(NEW CHAPTER)_ Harm has been selected to fly a mission into space for the Military Space Agency and the final few months before handing tick away slowly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of this chapter is taken from the Latin phrase meaning "Thus you will go to the stars."
> 
> I am fully aware that this timeline for Harm's becoming an astronaut is most likely completely unreasonable, but this IS fanfiction and I am pleading creative license!

### Chapter One: Sic Itur Ad Astra

####  **17 MARCH 1995**  
 **JOINT FORCES AIR STATION VANDENBERG – NEAR LOMPOC, SANTA BARBERA COUNTY, CALIF.**  
 **1925 HOURS ZULU**

“Gentlemen, and ladies, you’ve all been working incredibly hard,” Lt Gen Andrew Fredericks, United States Air Force, the head of the Military Space Agency said as he entered the conference room where the thirty MSA AsCans (astronaut candidates), including four already with NASA experience, were waiting patiently, “and we’ve finally made our choices on the crew for MSTS-X1-N.”

“Attention to orders!” The General’s Yeoman barked, faithfully following his superior office always, and the thirty officers snapped to attention and waited for the announcement of the crew.

“Firstly, the three mission specialists will be Commander Jessica A. Peterson, USN, for her first spaceflight, Squadron Leader Geoff B. Cameron, RAAF, first spaceflight and Lieutenant Commander Daniel C. Burbank, USCG, also first spaceflight,” The General announced and there was polite applause before he moved on in his announcements. “Next, the payload specialist will be Major E. William Norman, USA, first spaceflight, and the payload commander will be Captain Ariane de Paul, RCN, the lead scientist on the Joint Intelligence Satellite Project for her first spaceflight.”

More applause followed and there was several handshakes exchanged between the three Canadian payload specialists after their leader was selected, and the General waited for silence before announcing the final two positions on the crew, “Finally, the orbiter pilot will be Lieutenant Harmon D. Rabb Junior, USN, in his first spaceflight and the mission commander of the first MSA mission will be Lieutenant Colonel Andrew M. Allen, USMC. Congratulations, colonel on your third spaceflight. Lieutenant Rabb, Colonel Allen, you will be starting training in the shuttle simulator next week.”

After the final congratulations were finished, General Fredericks looked around the group one last time, “For those of you who were not selected, the crew for MSTS-X2 will be announced in the next month. In the meantime, however, you will all have leave for the next week before you will start the final phases of your training.”

####  **22 MARCH 1995**  
 **BURNETT RESIDENCE – LA JOLLA, SAN DIEGO COUNTY, CALIF.**  
 **2359 HOURS ZULU**

Harm sighed contentedly as he leant backwards in his deckchair, looking out past the pool and out across the Pacific Ocean to where the USS _Kitty Hawk_ was steaming in towards its homeport at NAS North Island. A splashing sound at his feet and the cool wetness of water on his face dragged his view away from the vast ocean and down to the diminutive Latina girl now gazing up at him, her arms resting on the edge of the pool, an innocent look on her face. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a bunch of water that just landed on my face would you Miss Hawkes?” he said, staring at her intently.

“No I wouldn’t, Mister Rabb, but would you mind helping me out of the pool?” Beth asked him angelically, holding her hand up for Harm to take, only to pull hard once his hand clasped hers, sending him sprawling off the wooden deck and into the pool.

As he broke the surface of the water once more, coming up coughing and spluttering, he sent a mock-harsh glare at the giggling flight officer. “I should have expected that from a tricky shyster like you!” he said, walking through the water towards her ominously.

“Hey, I’m not the tricky shyster!” she shot back fondly before squealing as Harm grabbed her around the waist and pulled her over to the other side of the pool. “Let me go, Harmon!” Beth shrieked, pounding his chest half-heartedly.

“Why would I let you go,” Harm started with a wicked grin, “when... I’ve got you... right where I want you?” As he finished, he pulled her in for a kiss.

The kiss started to grow more passionate until the moment was broken by the entrance of Harm’s mum and step-dad. “Harmon David Rabb Junior! Stop molesting that girl!” Trish said with a laugh while Frank chuckled in the background.

“Mum! You are always embarrassing me,” Harm groaned while Beth hid a giggle behind her hand.

####  **4 APRIL 1995**  
 **BURNETT RESIDENCE – LA JOLLA, SAN DIEGO COUNTY, CALIF.**  
 **0106 HOURS ZULU**

While the Burnetts were not exactly members of the California party scene, when the time came to celebrate Harm’s selection for a spaceflight, they pulled out all the stops. Normally a very private person, he looked around the yard of the house in La Jolla and saw flag officers, squadron mates, test pilots, school friends, academy friends, and even the Senator for California!

He was standing alone and off to the side sipping a beer when two of his favourite ladies, identical twins Diane and Sarah Schonke walked up carrying flutes of champagne. “Hey sailor,” they chimed in unison.

“Hey Di, S, you know it creeps me out when you do that, right?” he greeted the girls, looking kind of scared of the way the two could twin-speak.

With matching smirks, the twins looked and each other then back to Harm and replied together, “Yep.”

“Anyway, how’s JAG treating you, Sarah? I heard Chegwidden’s JAG now, I heard he used to be a SEAL and then a destroyer skipper,” Harm said, looking at the twin who had chosen to join the Marine Corps and studied law after Annapolis, rising to her current rank of Captain, USMC.

“JAG’s great!” Sarah enthused, a wide smile on her face. “Admiral Chegwidden is hard-nosed but he’s exceptionally fair and he’s willing to come in to bat for any lawyer under his command if need be.”

“Awesome,” Harm replied, nodding thoughtfully, “and what about you Di? How’s crypto?”

“I’m still growing into the role. Captain Roy said that he can’t recommend my promotion from JG to Lieutenant until I serve a sea duty. He’s looking at getting me a billet on the Seahawk,” Diane told him with a smile.

“Don’t worry Di, you’ll be full lieutenant before you know it,” Sarah consoled her twin sister while Harm agreed.

Harm spent the best part of the night talking to each and every guest, but he was disappointed to find out that his three best male friends hadn’t been able to make it. Luke Pendry was on deployment to the Mediterranean, Jack Keeter was flying secret missions for “the Company” while Sturgis Turner was under the polar ice cap on board USS _City of Corpus Christi_.

Finally, Harm had satisfied his duty to meet with every guest, and he was able to sneak away up to his room where he slumped on the bed and drifted off to sleep.

####  **1 AUGUST 1995**  
 **JOINT FORCES AIR STATION VANDENBERG – NEAR LOMPOC, SANTA BARBERA COUNTY, CALIF.**  
 **1833 HOURS ZULU**

With just twelve days remaining before the mission, with the official “Time to Mission Clock” having started in Mission Control at JFAS Vandenberg, and Harm was taking the last opportunity to fly the C-11A Shuttle Training Aircraft (STA) with instructor and veteran of two spaceflights, US Navy Captain Kenneth S. Reightler Jr. before he was flying “for keeps”.

A highly modified Grumman Gulfstream II, the STA flies much like the actual shuttle orbiter and allows pilots to gain a minimum of 1000 hours training before the mission. Harm took his place in the left hand seat of the cockpit, designed to match the shuttle and waited patiently while CAPT Reightler piloted the STA up to Angels 37.

Descending to Angels 20, Harm lined up his approach and reversed the engine thrust, lowering the main landing gear and started his descent to Angels 12 for the second part of the manoeuvre, a roll and drop of the nose to increase the speed of the descent.

Minutes later, Harm successfully brought the STA to a textbook stop, CAPT Reightler pronouncing Harm ready to fly the shuttle itself.

####  **14 AUGUST 1995**  
 **JOINT FORCES AIR STATION VANDENBERG – NEAR LOMPOC, SANTA BARBERA COUNTY, CALIF.**  
 **1502 HOURS ZULU**  
 **T MINUS 2 HOURS 45 MINUTES**

Wearing their large and bulky spacesuits, the seven crew members of Military Space Agency mission MSTS-X1-N crossed the launch tower, looking down to ground level where the people scattered around looked the size of ants. Beside the gargantuan Space Shuttle Constellation, Harm felt insignificant as he entered the White Room to make the final preparations to go into space.

####  **LATER THAT DAY**  
 **JOINT FORCES AIR STATION VANDENBERG – NEAR LOMPOC, SANTA BARBERA COUNTY, CALIF.**  
 **1802 HOURS ZULU**  
 **T MINUS 2 MINUTES**

_"Constellation, this is Vandenberg Base. Countdown is T-minus 2 minutes. Close and lock visors!"_ the voice of the capsule communicator (CAPCOM), Harm's former squadron-mate Lieutenant Commander Mark Lowry, crackled through the radio headsets of each of the astronauts.

"Visors down and locked confirmed," Melnick reported and the countdown continued in earnest, the last few minutes ticking away.


	4. Beautiful Sunsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Harm gets his spaceflight, and once he lands, he has a career defining decision to make...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of this chapter is taken from a quote by former NASA astronaut and senator for Ohio Col. John Glenn Jnr, USMC; "I don't know what you could say about a day in which you have seen four beautiful sunsets."

### Chapter Two: Beautiful Sunsets

####  **14 AUGUST 1995**  
 **JOINT FORCES AIR STATION VANDENBERG – NEAR LOMPOC, SANTA BARBERA COUNTY, CALIF.**  
 **1804 HOURS ZULU**  
 **T MINUS 7 SECONDS**

At T-minus 6.6 seconds, the main engines powered up and just seconds later, the first military owned Shuttle mission, using the new Orbiter Constellation took to the skies as the launch announcer commented, "Two, one, zero and LIFTOFF! A new chapter in space exploration as the first mission of the Military Space Agency lifts off into the history books!"

The crowd, mostly family, on the ground watched and cheered as the Constellation's solid rocket boosters carried the Orbiter to a far greater speed than any other military aircraft, far far more than Harm's beloved Tomcats. No-one on the flight deck could speak as the intense G-Forces pushed them back into their seats, not letting up as long as the Orbiter was continually ascending towards orbit.

####  **15 AUGUST 1995**  
 **SPACE SHUTTLE _CONSTELLATION_ – SOMEWHERE OVER FLORIDA**  
 **1500 HOURS ZULU**

Day and night are impossible to gauge in space because there is nothing that fits our definition of day when in a craft orbiting the Earth. Nevertheless, astronauts in space are kept on a strict timetable by the flight controllers on the ground, allowing them to function in a more-or-less normal manner while on missions in orbit. Always the early riser however, Harm was already in his seat on the flight deck going through some daily checks with help from the watch officer Major Paulsen when the instantly recognisable first notes of Kenny Loggins' hit song "Danger Zone" started to pound through the shuttle's internal speakers.

Harm smiled as he sang along to the unofficial anthem of naval aviators everywhere, images from both the movie Top Gun and his own career as an aviator filling his mind's eye,

_Revvin' up your engine_  
 _Listen to her howlin' roar_  
 _Metal under tension_  
 _Beggin' you to touch and go_

_Highway to the Danger Zone_  
 _Ride into the Danger Zone_

_Headin' into twilight_  
 _Spreadin' out her wings tonight_  
 _She got you jumpin' off the track_  
 _And shovin' into overdrive_

_Highway to the Danger Zone_  
 _I'll take you_  
 _Right into the Danger Zone_

_You'll never say hello to you_  
 _Until you get it on the red line overload_  
 _You'll never know what you can do_  
 _Until you get it up as high as you can go_

_Out along the edges_  
 _Always where I burn to be_  
 _The further on the edge_  
 _The hotter the intensity_

_Highway to the Danger Zone_  
 _Gonna take you_  
 _Right into the Danger Zone_

_Highway to the Danger Zone_

Once the last notes of the song died away, the voice of the overnight CAPCOM, Air Force Colonel Ariane Thompson, crackled in from Mission Control at Vandenberg AFB, _"Good morning Constellation, and a very special good morning to our nation's newest astronaut pilot, Lieutenant Rabb, from Mum, Frank, Sarah, Diane, Beth, Tong and the Hawk! Captain Hochausen also wished to pass on his congratulations for being the first member of your class at TOPGUN to fly in space."_

Harm grinned as he reached for a radio headset and pulled it into place, "Good morning Vandenberg, Lieutenant Rabb here. Thanks for the inspirational song, and please pass on my thanks to everyone. Tell the Hawk he should be here in my place. We're all looking forward to a busy day here, and I am especially looking forward to my first full day in space."

 _"Will do, Constellation. Best of luck today!"_ the CAPCOM said before signing to allow the astronauts to prepare for their first mission objectives.

####  **19 AUGUST 1995**  
 **JOINT FORCES AIR STATION VANDENBERG – NEAR LOMPOC, SANTA BARBERA COUNTY, CALIF.**  
 **052 HOURS ZULU**

The mission to service and repair had been successful and the Constellation was ready to make its return to earth. At the controls, two naval aviators, a Coast Guard Commander and Navy Lieutenant making the final preparations to bring the "flying brick" in to land. After a de-orbit burn of almost four minutes, the shuttle turned towards California and started its free-flight descent. Once the shuttle had entered the atmosphere, it took Harm and Lieutenant Colonel Allen just over twenty-five minutes to line up with the main runway at Vandenberg and the two aviators brought the Constellation to a stop in front of a horde of technicians and family members there to greet the shuttle and welcome the astronauts home.

As the astronauts stepped down off the ATV - the vehicle which brought them down from the shuttle - they were immediately mobbed by friends, family and in Harm's case, mentors, a mass of people hugging, shaking hands, kissing, back slapping. The group parted however as the ranking naval officer at the MSA, Rear Admiral (lower half) David Walker made his way towards Harm's group. "Lieutenant Rabb! When you're done here, get into your whites and you and your entourage are to report to the conference room," the experienced astronaut barked.

"Aye, sir!" Harm nodded before the one-star admiral turned and walked back the way he had come.

Twenty five minutes later, Harm stood in his service whites in the conference room in front of Admiral Walker with his friends and family as the Admiral made a double presentation, "For completing all necessary training, and for completing a space flight above the Kármán line, it is my pleasure to award the Naval Astronaut (Pilot) Badge and NASA Space Flight Medal to Lieutenant Harmon Rabb Junior, United States Navy." The Admiral then pinned the gleaming golden Astronaut wings above his ribbons where his pilot's wings normally sat, and then the medal on his chest. Harm saluted and then stepped back, at which point Beth performed the traditional kiss on the cheek.

Once the ceremony was out of the way, Admiral Walker pulled two envelopes from his pocket. Showing them to Harm, he spoke slowly, "Lieutenant, I have here two sets of orders pending. One is a permanent spot in the MSA Corps of Astronauts." Here he paused and held up the envelope in question, before holding up the other envelope and continuing, "The other is a position in a Tomcat squadron back in the Fleet. Choose whichever one you like and the other will be cancelled." Almost immediately, Harm reached out and accepted the orders that would send him back to the Fleet. "You'd already decided, hadn't you?" Admiral Walker said with a knowing smile.

"Yes, sir," Harm agreed. "As much fun as that was, up there in space, and I will never forget it, I joined the navy to fly in combat, sir and to serve my country that way. And I would like the opportunity to continue that."

"I understand completely, Harm," Admiral Walker said, holding up a hand to stop Harm who was sounding very close to apologising for turning down the MSA spot. "MSA has lost a fine officer, but nevertheless, America has regained a powerful frontline fighter. Good luck Lieutenant, and godspeed."

"Thank you, sir!" Harm said sincerely, saluting the admiral crisply before turning and leaving the MSA conference room for the last time.


	5. Promotional Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his TAD at the Military Space Agency, Harm returns to the Fleet where he finds several changes - he is reunited with an Academy classmate, he receives a new call-sign, and rank, and he is assigned a new but familiar RIO...

### Chapter Three: Promotional Material

####  **24 AUGUST 1995**  
 **NAVAL AIR STATION OCEANA - VIRGINIA BEACH CITY, HAMPTON ROADS METROPOLITAN AREA, VA.**  
 **1336 HOURS ZULU**

Harm strolled down the hallway towards the office of Tom Boone, his godfather and CAG of Carrier Air Wing Twelve, his khaki combination cover tucked under his arm. "You can go right in, Lieutenant," Harm nodded to the Yeoman First Class seated in the CAG's outer office before making his way in.

"Close the hatch, Harm," Tom told him, gesturing expansively. "Welcome back to the fleet, I wasn't sure you were coming back. Scuttlebutt was you got offered a permanent slot in the MSA Joint Corps of Astronauts."

"Thank you sir. The flight on the Constellation was an amazing opportunity, but despite the offer from Lieutenant General MacKinley, I feel my place in the Navy is flying Tomcats and I believe it to be my best oppurtunity for advancement," Harm informed Tom of the decision he had come to shortly after Admiral Walker, on behalf the General Commanding the MSA, had asked him.

"I'm glad to hear it Harm, especially since I just got off the phone with COMNAVAIRLANT who was telling me that my air wing is going to be deployed on the USS Reprisal until Seahawk is back from its RCOH and we've received orders to sail on the Reprisal for Bosnia one month from now. In addition, the air wing has received seven new pilots and six new flight officers in Advanced Strike, one of which Commander Holloway and I have assigned to your plane," Tom informed the pilot, pausing for a moment to reach across and activate the intercom. "Rivas, send the newbie in please."

"Lieutenant, I believe you know Lieutenant JG Beth Hawkes?" Tom asked with a grin as Harm turned fast enough to give himself whiplash as he came face to face with Beth Hawkes.

"You know damn well that I know Beth, sir." Harm pointed at the CAG accusatorily before addressing the third occupant of the office, "It's good to see you again, Beth."

"Thank you, sir. You as well," Beth said, a blush tinging her cheeks pink as images of the last time she and Harm "saw" each other sprang into her mind.

"Now, Lieutenant Hawkes," Tom addressed the junior officer, regarding her sternly. "You will find that unlike many commanding officers, I am more than willing to push the envelope, to bend the rules as I see fit. I also believe that provided my officers are professional on duty, it is none of my business what they do off duty, however should they be... less than professional on duty it shall become my business. Am I understood?"

Realising what the CAG was indirectly hinting at, Beth returned his stare and replied, "Yes, sir!"

"Very good," Tom said before turning to Harm, "Harm, show Beth to the squadron rooms. All her clobber should be in her flight locker, but we will have to see about getting a flight helmet painted up for her."

Recognising the dismissal in his words, Harm and Beth both came to attention before Harm, as the senior officer of the two replied, "Aye, sir" before turning and leaving the office, Beth trailing behind him.

* * *

As Harm showed Beth into the squadron ready room, their conversation was interrupted by a booming voice calling out "Harmon Rabb Junior!"

Harm's eyes roved rapid-fire around the room, trying to pinpoint the speaker, finally revealed to be a heavier-set man in the very corner of the ready room sitting in front of a locker emblazoned with the word "Keeter". "Whispering Jack Keeter!" Harm cried with a grin, and moments later a manly embrace ensued. "You remember Lieutenant JG Beth Hawkes?" Harm asked his old friend after the embrace ended.

"How could I forget?" Keeter asked with a grin that Harm had often joked was banned in all fifty states and the District of Columbia. "And you've both been lucky enough to get lockers near me!"

"Oh joy!" Harm deadpanned, but his smile gave away his true thoughts as he looked at one of his oldest friends.

* * *

"You ready to go for a flight, Beth?" Harm asked after securing permission from the squadron CO, Commander Ryan Pike, and he and Beth had pulled on their green flight suits.

"You bet Harm!" Beth said, ecstatic she was getting the opportunity to go for her first flight in a Tomcat in an operational squadron.

Harm handed Beth a plain white flight helmet, her own had not been painted up yet, and picked up his own, making his way towards the exit into the squadron's hangar when he was called back by Keeter who was standing, surrounded by the whole squadron with something hidden behind his back, "Harm, while you were given the name Hammer in honour of your legendary father, Commander Pike, Captain Boone, the boys and myself thought that you had earned a call-sign of your own."

"I don't think your dad would mind," a voice from behind him said and Harm turned to see the CAG and squadron CO standing there. Nodding silently, he turned back towards the rest of the squadron and gestured for Keeter to continue.

"After some heated discussion," Keeter said, drawing chuckles from the surrounding fliers, "we took a vote, and in honour of your recent TAD, we've decided to re-moniker you, our warrior from space, as Orion." Cheers erupted from the squadron as Keeter pulled a new flight helmet, already painted up, from behind his back. Harm was wide eyed as he saw one of the most detailed flight helmet designs he had ever seen. A deep purple, no, indigo background with the new moniker painted in white. On the left side of the helmet, golden stars in the shape of the constellation of Orion with a hand extending from near the "belt" clenching a hammer, while on the right side, a golden "astronaut device" - a shooting star through a halo or elliptic orbit.

As Harm looked at the new helmet, his first thought was to decline and stay with Hammer, but he quickly realised that Keeter was right, and so was the CAG. His dad would have wanted his only son to have had a call-sign of his own. Silently, he reached out and switched the old flight helmet for the new before looking first at Beth, who smiled and nodded encouragingly, and then at his academy classmate, the second of the "Four Musketeers" and nodded appreciatively, "Thanks Keeter."

"Okay people, now that we've got the lovey-dovey stuff out of the way," Commander Pike - call-sign "Panther" looked around the ready room before barking, "Attention to orders!"

The whole squadron snapped to attention as Tom walked forward, opening a simple box to show two gold oak leaves. Looking proudly at his godson, he spoke, "Lieutenant Commander, repeat after me. I, your name..."

"I, Harmon Rabb Junior," Harm repeated, and the process continued until Harm had completed the entire oath, "do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God."

"Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander," Tom smiled and offered his hand to Harm before he was subjected to a barrage of high-fives and handshakes and back-slapping.

"Okay everyone, break it up," Panther called over the ruckus. "We're all coming off a three week stand-down, or more, so I wanna see everyone on a check-ride this afternoon! The USS America is on operations off the coast and you are all to fly out there, do five traps and return. Good luck people." With that, the senior member of the squadron turned and left.

* * *

"So Skates," Harm looked at his new "Girl in Back" then up to his beloved Tomcat, using the call-sign she had picked up in flight training, "are you with me?"

Beth looked back at her pilot and best friend, pulling on her still-to-be-painted flight helmet with a wide grin, "To hell and back, Orion, just like always." Harm responded with a Cheshire grin of his own as he pulled his own new flight helmet on before following Beth up the ladder into the cockpit of the Tomcat which was still yet to have Beth's name painted beside Harm's.


End file.
